


Of Insanity And Sinners

by snekcrowley4004



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon who?, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Chloe Decker Needs A Hug, Dark, F/M, Insanity, Post-Season/Series 02, and maybe a lot of therapy, no beta we misinterpret everything like lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snekcrowley4004/pseuds/snekcrowley4004
Summary: Chloe doesn't handle the news of Lucifer being, well, Lucifer well.She only knows the cold void inside of her and just hownicedivinity seemed.--A tale of Chloe Decker's descent into madness.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	Of Insanity And Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> first work on good omens account: lucifer

Chloe Decker was a practical woman. She believed in justice, in science, in what she could see, hear, and touch. It was as simple as that.

She was not the sort of woman to believe in Heaven or Hell, any sort of afterlife, for that matter.

And she most certainly did not believe in the Devil, or God, or angels or demons.

What happens when she can see, hear, and touch solid proof?

It began, as everything did, with a

f

a

l

l

.

***

It wasn’t any particular day, after Lucifer came back from the desert. He was distracted and panicking, she was disappointed he’s never come over, never explained, and everything was going downhill, as usual (ish).

Or so she thought.

The truth was, what she thought was a downhill was nothing alike to what she saw a week later, an ordinary case with an ordinary psychopath gone horribly, horrifically wrong.

Lucifer.

Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.

He was the root of the problem.

Red skin, burnt skin, torn, and scarred and somehow still freshly wounded, an echo of the pain it must have caused echoing and Chloe knew, she _knew._

She was choking, laughing, screaming, hysterical.

Lucifer was Satan.

He was standing in the doorway, wings – _wings_ – outstretched, skin redredredred _red_ and horribly, horribly _burnt_ , and she couldn’t stop laughing.

She wasn’t quite scared, no, fear seemed entirely the wrong emotion to place on this, fear, and lust but slightly to the left.

There was a part of her brain telling her she should be scared, but she _wasn’t_. She was faintly worried that she wasn’t, but really, she didn’t care.

Lucifer was _Satan_.

She was still laughing when she felt him pick her up, and she grasped his arms, his all too _human_ arms, and she let him fly.

She, Chloe Jane Decker, was _flying_.

And then it was over, and she was tucked into her bed, still laughing. Lucifer hovered over her for a second or an hour or a year, be damned if she knew, until she let herself sleep.

_Lucifer was Satan._

***

She dreamed of Lucifer as she knew him, leaning up against the doorframe with a smirk, eyes pools of melted chocolate.

Chloe stepped towards him, smiling, and she was suddenly on clouds that were soft as down and whiter than snow, sparkling like the frost in the weak winter sunshine.

Wings.

Lucifers wings were huge, and she clung onto them, breathing in the scent and seeing something else, somewhere else, a place that was like Heaven, tall silver buildings and enormous gates towering high above her, then she was holding on again, the silk-like softness lulling her into a far too relaxed state for what she knew these were.

_This is a dream_ , she tried to tell herself, but was too enchanted by the fact that these wings were her’s.

She was flying on shining white wings over her own, the skies soaring far below her. She was Chloe Jane Decker, and she could _fly_ , glamorous wings that were practical and stunning.

Then monstrous great red hands plucked at her, pulled at her skin, and tore her away from her wings.

Her back burned, like someone had painted lava in long streaks across it, scarlet dripping and falling through the clouds. Someone would be experiencing rains of blood, soon enough.

The hand pulled her down into Hell, great pillars of grey swamping her in and rain of ash tumbling down around her. Twisted creatures fought in the mud as she crawled up the path-like structure towards the palace, made of warped black glass twisted out of shape.

She clambered up the steps, doors slowly scraping open, the screeching on glass on glass echoing at the back of her mind, ears oozing crimson.

The throne was in the centre, set in stone and, upon it, lay a creature of nightmares.

Skin – if you could call _that_ skin – red and raw, open wounds dripping black ichor, eyes glowing, burning with the firs of hell and a promise of punishment.

“CHLOE DECKER,” it said. “YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED HERE FOR JUDGEMENT.”

The rest of what was said was drowned out by a buzzing, and she was gripped with paralysing fear, crawling, scrabbling backwards, trying to find an escape were there was none.

Demons descended upon her, dragging her away, kicking and screaming, until there was an exit and she fled. An angel with strangely purple eyes and a broken nose pulled her up to Heaven, and she remembered.

“Lucifer!” she screamed, hoarse, “ _Lucifer!”_

But Lucifer never came.

***

She woke up, sweating, and clutched an icy glass of water, pouring it down her throat before gasping for air and shutting her eyes like she could block it out.

She curled up and went back to sleep.

***

Chloe woke up feeling slightly less mad, only a gnawing void clawing up inside of her. It was cold and hungry and _Lucifer._

Wings, face, skin, eyes.

It was everything so much more and Chloe wanted it, wanted him, wanted to bask in infernal and divine and all things celestial.

She wasn’t scared.

She wasn’t on her knees in worship.

She knew that Lucifer was still Lucifer, she wasn’t stupid.

She swallowed, watching herself in the mirror. Lucifer had left a note.

_Detective,_

_I called in sick for you._

_I thought you’d need the time off._

_L.M._

How very formal.

She wanted more, more Lucifer, something more primal and personal and something able to taste, because Chloe Jane Decker needed proof that she could sense with her own senses and she needed to taste this proof to accept, or she would go crazy.

She bared her teeth in the mirror, bit her cheek and tasted blood. Metallic, real, true.

Except was it really her blood? Humans had been crafted as little tools to a God, was she just a means to an end?

Lucifer.

Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer.

She _knew_ Lucifer.

She loved Lucifer.

He loved her, too, in his own inhuman way.

His _celestial_ way, because Lucifer wasn’t human, Lucifer was Satan, Lucifer was the devil, Lucifer was _Lucifer._

Heaven and Hell, she didn’t care for, no longer quite as terrified of her own mortality when she had Lucifer.

A celestial being that swept through LA, leaving men and women on the floor behind him, and it hadn’t worked on her.

She was special.

Chloe burned in those three days of silence, where she was alone.

Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer.

The wings had shone with divine light, stretching with powerful muscles and glittering feathers reaching further, an eerie glow emitting from Lucifer as he terrified the suspect, a weak mortal bowing before him and bending to his will, because the Devil punished humans, because Lucifer punished humans, and to sin is wrong Satan and Satan will answer. _Lucifer_ will answer.

Lucifer will punish sinners, because he likes to punish and it is his duty.

Satan will punish sinners because he likes to punish and it is his duty.

Lucifer, Satan, Lucifer.

Lucifer _was_ Satan.

Her Lucifer was _Satan_ , of biblical lore and epic proportions, her Lucifer was powerful beyond her comprehension, and he was _her_ Lucifer.

She couldn’t say her Satan, but her Lucifer? Her own little pocket of celestial, infernal, divine, of something otherworldly for her, for _her_ —

She needed Lucifer.

Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.

***

“Detective?” he said. Lucifer said. Satan said. “I came when you called.”

She was all over him, hands searching his face and hair and patting down his back.

“ _Where are they?_ ” she asked almost feverishly, hands clutching and squeezing and grasping, eyes wide, almost foaming at the mouth.

“Tell me I didn’t dream this. Tell me this was real.”

Lucifer took a step back. Satan took a step back.

“I wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were here for the wings,” Satan said, frowning. Lucifer said, Lucifer frowned.

“ _I don’t want the wings!”_ she nearly screamed. “I want _you_.”

He looked almost delighted, for a second, before taking her in. Satan drank in the look of her tousled hair, widened eyes and destroyed home, Lucifer looking worried for her as he drew her down to sit.

“I’m sorry I thought the worst of you, Detective. What is it you wish to know?”

She didn’t let him sit down before she threw herself at him, kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man, the air sucked from her lungs and teeth and skin and lips clashing, the void inside of her hungry and eager to be filled. Tongues met and fought in the centre, teeth scraping against one another and lips devoured in the fit of passion, hands on chest and gripping tight onto shoulders, broad fingers resting gently against her cheekbones and then they were pulling away, apart, separating in the middle, and he pulled her down onto the apologising for _something_ , but he had begun to fill the chasm inside of her and how could he be sorry for that? She’d never been better in her _life._

“Tell me everything,” she said, and Lucifer, Satan, Prince of Darkness, did.

He began with Samael, of the rotten angel, burning with a broken light, who fought against heaven and begged for free will, cast out and falling, burning, burning, burning. He told her of Lucifer, the fallen Lightbringer, rising from the ashes and lighting fires within Hell.

He told her of Lilith, the immortal human demon, and how the noise grew louder as her children populated the space, of the torture that began as humans filed in, of how the first sinner was stolen from him.

He told her how he took part, delighted in it, revelled in it. He told her how he snapped the bones in them one by one, how he paralysed them and cut them apart. He told her how he grew bored of pain and suffering and left to enjoy the more carnal pleasures of earth, of the sex he’d had with thousands of mortal women, thousands of mortal men.

She craved it, what they’d all had but she had not.

He told her of returning, of fleeing, of the deal he made, of cutting off his wings and moving to Lux. Of meeting her, of his desire power, of how she was immune. He told her of Amenadiel and all his other siblings, Gabriel and Raphael and Michael, his twin.

He told her of the celestial problems that had overlapped her cases, of his mother, and how that changed everything. He told her of her miracle status, and she laughed.

Chloe was celestial herself, she had no powers, though. How dare he? How dare God, in all his mighty glory, bring her into being like this and leave her so bland, so plain, so empty?

She craved this.

***

“Show me proof,” she whispered, in the dead of the night, because she believed in logic and what her senses told her, and not the hearsay of the universe’s most slandered man, no matter her own feelings on the matter. Feelings were impractical, obscuring the truth even from the world’s most honest man.

He showed her his wings, and she ran her hands across every feather, smeared her blood on every primary, kissed every corner across onto his back, his shoulders, and up onto his neck.

He transformed before her eyes, red, rough skin all hers for tonight. She familiarised herself with every crack and crevice and made him her own, her own little pet Devil, not that he knew.

She doubted she knew, either, anymore, lost somewhere in the crack made in her worldview by the infernal and divine.

Chloe Decker was shown, by Lucifer’s guiding hand, the celestial universe she had somehow missed. How had anything made sense without knowing this?

How had the world clicked before she understood the true depths of it? Had she really skimmed the surface and said _oh, alright then, that’s enough_?

***

She left the next morning and she learned. She lived, she burst with life in every space in LA.

She was going to mean something in this world that was not as simple as she thought.

She learned and she became, she twisted her way through the low-lives, she showed herself something, everything different.

And then she came back.

Something in her called out for Lucifer.

For his wings, his face, his eyes.

For _Lucifer._

***

She punched a mirror in the dead of the night.

Detective Chloe Decker, not much else, simple blonde hair and eyes, bone, and flesh, all too painfully human.

She plucked a shard from the ground and clutched at it, her own blood bubbling over the edge, spilling over and streaming down her wrist. It stung, instincts screaming _let go! Let go, you fool_ at her, and she rose it to the limp strands of hair and hacked at them until they were short, uneven, and ragged and short.

Very much not Chloe Jane Decker.

She dropped the shard and found she liked the change.

***

She gathered herself together and went to work.

She solved cases, that’s what she did, and when the suspect ran, she shot him in the head. She called out for Azrael and received only silence, but Chloe Decker was not done.

She foisted her paperwork onto Dan and ran with the next case, firing bullets out into the crowd as the shooter fired back. Bodies fella round her in the bullet rain, and she didn’t care, she could feel Death in the air and Azrael had to be here somewhere.

She was not.

But Chloe Decker was not done.

Violent stabbings in dark alleyways, Chloe didn’t show for work, didn’t care for how her wild, maniacal face adorned the fronts of newspapers, LAPD’s finest detective turned deadly. She fired off shots in crowds and arranged for bombs to fall and thousands and thousands in California fell and Chloe Decker screamed her name.

At last, at _last_ , Azrael came and spoke to her.

She told her to stop, tried to quell the growing obsession, but Chloe snapped and bit down on her arm. Nothing happened, of course, but she slid and fell further down the slippery slide of insanity until she chased down Lucifer and kissed him against the wall, let him press her to the ground and got ready to scream with pleasure and delight.

Sex with the Devil was just as good as it sounds.

Chloe walked into the precinct with every eye on her, Chloe Decker, the murderer. She was a miracle, and she knew – she _knew_ – she deserved powers and powers she got. Her flesh and blood burned, and she burned with it, skin shimmering with powers beyond what a mortal could control, but she shone with the light of a newly made immortal.

A thousand glimmering lights turned deadly and she basked in the full horror of Lucifer’s gaze.

“Chloe,” he whispered, shocked. “What have you done?”

She grinned at him, darkly. “Exactly what I desired most.” She hissed, and they both knew there was no going back.

Lucifer Morningstar, Satan himself, met God’s miracle sinner in the precinct and kissed her.

***

Somewhere else, God died. He cried out as he died. And a plan was set in motion, and the world began to end, one scream at a time.


End file.
